The Quenta Pityalië
by Jbluejake
Summary: Journey to the First Age to hear the tale of the Dwarves. From their first awakening and to the Quest of Erebor, journey alongside Durin as he wakes alone at Mount Gundabad and goes on to found Khazâd-Dum. Feel free to leave reviews on how to make this story better. All information used in this story draws upon Tolkien's original sources of inspiration and the Silmarillion
1. -Of the Creation of the Dwarves-

It was long ago when this tale began, a time beyond the reaches of memory. The world was green at that time, and it very young, freshly formed from the minds of the Valar in Valinor to the will of Iluvatar. The only creatures that crawled through the land would now be considered ancient and beyond belief. The world was also not round as it is today, but instead flat, falling off into the sheer walls of the world at its edges.

This story does not begin as the Universe did, instead, the labors and tales of both Gods and Goddesses had already taken place, with the Pillars of Illuin and Ormal being torn down many years before. The two trees of Valinor had just sprouted from the ground and grew into their beauty. The dew off the leaves of the silver Telperion was collected by Varda into vats of beautiful, silver light. Aulë, the shaper of the land, made for the dew orbs of vast beauty, which Manwë made holy, and Varda then set into the sky as a sign of hope for the Firstborn and Followers, who would come soon, just as Ilúvatar had shown them. To us today, they are known as the stars. The light of the trees wasn't contained by the Pelori at this time, instead it shone out onto the once desolate lands of Middle-Earth, shining like a beacon into the darkness. These were the days of the Bliss of Valinor.

Many of the lands in Middle-Earth were covered in dense forests, who spread their eaves to all corners of their land, with the inland Sea of Helcar in the far east, to the east the Orocarni (Mountains of the East), the bay of Cuiviénen in Helcar, and Hildórien, the eventual birthplace of the race of Men in the Southeast. The Quendi, the ancient ancestors of all the Elves, at Cuiviénen meet Oromë the Huntsman, three of the Elves were brought to Valinor and then returned to Cuiviénen to bring the rest of their kin to Valinor, and left the shores of Cuiviénen to reach the western shores of what would become Beleriand.

The Misty Mountains, Ered Hithui in the tounge of the Elves, were raised as they travelled to the western shores. These mountains were made by Melkor as a barrier to hinder the Elves, hindering some of the Elves, who would later become the Elves of the Woodland Realm during the Quest for Erebor. Even though these Mountains were created as an evil, Eru Ilúvatar once told Melkor beyond the bounds of the world that any should wish to change his will cannot do so, only adding to the beauty of his celestial design in the attempt. This proved true, as it was there, in the furthest reaches of the North, where Durin, Oldest and Fatherless, awoke.

A large crack preluded a streak of light that peered through a crack in the deep rock, slowly widening as the crumbling rock collapsed away, letting in the starlight into the hole onto the brow of Durin. It shone white and serene down onto the crags and boulders below. It was there on a bed of stone that Durin rested deep in sleep. He had laid there for many years, alive and not dead, but as cold and still as a stone. Beneath the surface, however, his dreams were vivid and fierce.

He was in a large cavern, sitting still on a large ledge, almost like a shelf for the master of that workshop. Large thuds vibrated throughout his body as that master hurried around from large tables and shelves that were covered in instruments, hammers, and drawings.

His dreams always were in the same cavern, vast and massive, stretching further than his sight would allow. Six others were with him, resting on the same shelf alongside him. They were each being cared for with as much sincerity as he was. Humanoid they were in appearance, with shorter bodies, long hair, and long beards that reached down to their waists, beards fashioned after the like of their maker's, and their faces were rough and cragged, almost like a slab of rock. Jewels shone from their eyes, fashioned as eyes for them to see, jewels indistinguishable from biological eyes and the jewels that lay in the earth. Everything, from their large nimble hands to the individual hairs on their beards, was crafted with immense care and understanding surpassing a mortal mind. The minds of Durin and his kin were blank and empty, only filled with their Maker's thoughts and will, who could not give them life, for he did not have the power.

Worn hands, dirty and muscular encompassed him. He was set down on the table and laid out like a doll. He was poked, prodded, and crafted even more extensively than he had already, making him slightly larger, almost five feet tall, with his vocal cords and mind being made ready to function. Lingering thoughts came into Durin's mind from his maker's subconsciousness. He was obsessed with making Durin and his brothers perfect, unmistakable from a human being. Slowly, Durin's mind awoke as his Maker turned to him. He spoke to Durin, imagining him to listen, causing him to do so in the process.

" _I will teach you, Durin, a tongue that I have devised for you and your brothers. I call it Khuzdul, for you and your brothers are called the Khaz_ _â_ _d_. _In your new language, I am called Mahal, the Maker, for I have crafted you out of the Earth with the same skill that I used to build the land itself"_ Durin tilted his head upwards, looking blankly into Mahal's eyes as he continued. _"I will also teach each one of you my craft, from the simple carving of stone, to capturing light in gems. To you and your brothers, will be dominion over all that lay under mountain…and under stone"_

Durin could see into Mahal's mind as he spoke. He saw desperation and passion, yes, but desolation. Little did Durin know or understand, but Mahal was afraid. He knew that what he was doing was wrong. He knew that Durin, along with his other brothers, were not meant to exist. In doing this, in bringing them to life, he was disobeying a power beyond comprehension. Mahal then turned away, walking over to another one of his workstations. He put laid his hands on his desk in exasperation, thinking.

" _If only I could remember more…"_ he muttered in anger. _"I have made them strong, unyielding, so as Melkor cannot corrupt them…but what I saw of the Children has faded in my memory…their design is inaccurate…"_ he trailed off. A small trickle of water began to trickle into the cavern, dripping right onto the workstation in front of Mahal. Hurriedly, Mahal struck the top of the cavern with his great hammer, halting the flow. He shuddered as he turned back to Durin. He quickly made his way to the shelf, grabbing the others and set them down next to Durin. He willed them to stand, and they did.

Durin looked at his brothers, the second oldest, Regin, with his broad shoulders and shorter stature, the third, Northri, with his bright red beard, the fourth, Hannar, who was built with iron, the fifth, Andvari, who was most unyielding and stiff, the sixth, Ái with his obsidian-black hair, and Jarin, the youngest brother of them all. Durin stood next to them, stroking his beard, which was considerably longer than those of the others.

Mahal then began to teach them all Khuzdul. After a long time, he left them to accustom their tongues to it. He traveled over to another shelf, one that lay on the opposite side of the cavern. On it, more humanoid figures lay, six of them at that time. They were different, they were female. Mahal had known his creations would need mates, as for why, Durin could not tell. Still, Mahal wished to teach his craft to all his creations, making the female Khaz _â_ d anything but the least in his eyes.

Each one was made with one of the seven in mind, but the final was still laying on the furnace, limp and motionless, unfinished. Mahal wished that her, the one for Durin, was perfect. Mahal knew that Durin was different from the rest of his brothers. He was special.

Another drip of water fell into the cavern, but Mahal was not aware of it, all his thought was bent on his creations. Right as he picked up the final one to finish her design, the cavern shook with immense power, almost collapsing at the sound of a new voice.

" _Aulë"_ it said. It rang with immense power. The only thing keeping the cavern from collapsing was by the will of the new presence, Ilúvatar. The final Khazâd broke into many pieces in his hands, grieving Aulë deeply.

" _Ilúvatar"_ he whispered in reply. His face was sorrowful and fearful. Durin and his brothers sat aside, not able to fully comprehend what was happening.

" _I see your creations. Why do you wish to create life, when that authority has not been given to you?"_ Ilúvatar asked simply. _"Do you not remember what I told you all beyond Arda? None shall be able to create life but I, Eru, the One"_

Aulë remained silent, not wishing to speak for his shame was too great.

 _"Should you be just as Melkor was? Wishing to build life of your own? He may be your brother in my thought, but to you I gave a greater and more eternal task, to fashion my world and to make it in my image. To craft, instead of destroy"_ It was then that Mahal spoke.

 _"Please…forgive me"_ Mahal spoke, almost on the verge of tears. _"Would you punish a child that copies his father out of admiration? The drive in me to create was given by you. I only…"_ he stopped, gulping in grief and horror at what he had done.

 _"I only wished to have a people to teach all that I know, so they may share in the beauty of the world alongside me"_ both fell silent. Mahal turned to his creations.

 _"I was foolish to think I could do this. Impatience is by far my weakest trait. I could've waited for your Children to come, but I did not. Ilúvatar…"_ he said. _"I give my creations to you, so you may do what you will with them"_ He set all the Khazâd together on his workstation, willing them to remain still. Mahal then retrieved his hammer, striding towards them.

" _You need not act"_ he told Ilúvatar. _"I know what you wish for me to do with them, and though it saddens me to do this…I…I will destroy them"_ he raised up his hammer, readying to strike the Khazâd down. At the height of his swing, his grief overcame him, and he began to cry, with tears streaming down his face onto his beard.

A sharp strike then hit Durin, a strike that lit a spark inside of him as well as his brothers. For the first time, he could not see into Mahal's mind, instead, he looked around, feeling with his hands and felt the cold stone beneath his feet. He stroked his beard without Mahal willing him to, feeling very satisfied by the full hair reaching down to his waist. The others began to touch each other, shaking each other's hands, feeling their faces and hands.

It was then when Jarin saw Mahal's hammer. He yelled in fright, drawing each of his brothers to see what Mahal was to do. Each one of them held up their hands in defense, screaming in immense fear, cowering under the one who had made them. Still, Mahal did not falter and began to bring his hammer down onto the Khazâd.

Ilúvatar stopped Mahal's hammer and said to him: _"Look Aulë. I have given your creations life. I have adopted them as my children"_ Mahal dropped his hammer in joy. He began to offer praise and glory to Ilúvatar, who was merciful to him. Ilúvatar then reminded him.

" _Even though I have given them spirits of their own, they will not awake and traverse the Earth before my Firstborn, for I had willed it in our Music that they would come first, which I will not change"_ he said to Mahal.

" _Of course!"_ Mahal replied. _"There would be no other way"_

" _For that to happen…"_ Ilúvatar began, _"They will sleep under the Earth until the Firstborn awaken. I will instruct you to where they shall sleep, for my infinite thought now has plans for them"_ he continued still. _"Since you have made these people, who will one day be called Dwarves, before my Firstborn, they will be forever at odds with them many times before this world passes away"_ Mahal solemnly understood, but was still overjoyed at Ilúvatar's mercy. He then took each of the Khazâd, setting them in rooms of stone on beds on which they would rest.

With Regin, Northri, and their wives, Mahal took them beyond the sight of the other brothers, to Mount Dolmed in what would become Ered Luin, the Blue Mountains. There they slept together.

With Hannar and Andvari with their wives, he took them to furthest reaches of the Orocarni in the East, which would one day be called the Red Mountains. He took Ái and Jarin with their wives to the Orocarni as well, but to the southern-most reaches of the Orocarni, near to where Hildórien lay.

Durin, however, was placed North of the flatlands that lay between the lands east of the Blue Mountains and west of the Eryn Galen, which would become Greenwood the Great and later Mirkwood. When Melkor raised the Misty Mountains as a barrier to the Elves, a larger mountain was made over where Durin slept, rising high up into the sky with three peaks that connected the Misty Mountains to the Iron Mountains. He slept alone, for Mahal had destroyed Durin's partner.

It was there, when the Elves had passed beyond the Misty Mountains and towards Beleriand that Ilúvatar whispered into his ear, under the crack in the stone:

" _Awake Durin, the Deathless"_


	2. -Of Durin and his time Alone-

Durin's eyes slowly opened, although he could barely tell that he did, for the room he was in was so dark. He weakly propped himself up. His back and neck aching and straining as they moved for the first time in many decades. He lifted his large hands to his face, rubbing off the dirt and gravel that had fallen from the cavern ceiling onto him as he slept. He brushed off his body, and his beard as well, and sat upright, his legs hanging off the side of where he had lain. Sliding off of the stone, he set his feet onto the cold, smooth ground.

He spoke nothing, still deep in thought. He thought back to the cavern with Mahal and his brothers, realizing that the other six had wives made for them, but Durin did not. The last one had crumbled in Mahal's hands. His thoughts were accompanied by the trickling of water on stone into pools below. Looking around to find the source of that sound, he stood up and gazed at the room around him, squinting to see more in the dim light. He walked over towards the wall to his right, feeling as he struggled to find some source of light. He felt an alcove and an old box wooden chest inside of it. With what energy he had in him, he pushed open the lid, his bones and muscles protesting this new motion.

In the dim light, he saw inside the chest an elaborate pickaxe made by Mahal himself, an axe also made by Mahal, and metal-wrought armor with warm clothes. In the dark, he put the clothes on, desperate to become warm again. He felt warmth again creep into his bones there in the dark, a feeling that he only experienced once before, and that was with Mahal. He put the armor on, which fit him perfectly, crafted to the curves and grooves in his body, with a smooth, flat chest piece that wouldn't catch the hairs of his beard. Putting on his gloves, he realized that they were hard and meant to be used in a forge and for outdoor use. Gripping the axe in his hand, he saw it was immensely sharp, almost enough to cut through boulders and rocks. It was adorned with gems and jewels, but not ceremoniously, instead, practically. This would one day become an heirloom of his house, known as Durin's Axe. He slid the axe behind his back and his pickaxe into his belt.

Durin then tilted his head back and looked up at the opening in the roof of the cave. He decided that he couldn't stay. He needed to leave. His destiny laid outside of this cave, in the vast expanses of the world, but first he needed to find a way out and onto the surface. In the dim starlight that shone into his cave, Durin noticed a torch hanging on the wall. He also saw a flint along with steel on a shelf. Fingering the flint and steel, he then stuck the torch. As it blazed bright in the darkness, the cavern he rested in became clear and visible. Durin had been laid on a large slab of stone that rested in the center of the room. Beyond that, there was a flight of stairs carved from the rock that stretched up to where the starlight shone through and into the cavern.

Behind him was a sheer wall of rock stood, with the source of the sound he heard being a small spring of water running into pools of standing water. Upon seeing it, thirst overtook him. He stumbled over to the spring, gathered the running water into his hands, and began to drink. Durin was the first to ever drink from that well. It was during this time that words were not put to the stones, mountains, springs, and dells of the world. In him, a desire to name that spring enveloped him. He named the pool Uzn-Zâram, the Dim Pool. In many years after that that spring has sometimes been called Zirak-Zâram, the Silver Pool, as when light was shone onto the pool, silver could be seen shining from its depths.

He turned from the pool when satisfied and began to climb up the stairs towards the crack in the rock. At the crack in the rock, he turned back towards the cavern. He had spent decades sleeping in that place. He couldn't simply leave without naming it, giving it power, and eternally immortalizing this place in the minds of all that would come after him. He named that place Gundabad, a Khuzdul name, which would soon name the mountain under which that holy place rested. He turned back to the crack in the rock, which was about the size of a fist. Taking his pick-axe, he stuck the rock. The stone was hard and solid, made to protect Durin from anything that would seek to find and destroy him. Eventually, he ran out of patience and forced his way through the hole. From the outside it appeared as if he simply sprung out of the stone. He emerged onto his hands and knees and looked upwards into the sky.

The world was dark and cold. He could see that the grass near him was green, but everything was dark and laid in shadow, for clouds covered the stars from his view. Durin had emerged onto the rocky mountain-side of Mount Gundabad, which sloped down to a sheer cliff that fell off into a chasm below. The wind that blew from behind him was cold, so he knew that the North was behind him, and that he had emerged onto the southern face of Mount Gundabad. He sat still on mountain-side, deep in thought as he turned back to his dreams. In his heart, he briefly wished to go back inside the mountain. There, he felt safe, secure. He did not bear any animosity towards the surface, but his heart rested beneath stone. He sighed. He knew that he couldn't stay, so he made his way down the mountain-side towards a path that led down the mountain and towards the lands that lay to the south.

The path ran steeply down the mountain, curving left and right as it needed to. Rock and debris was kicked up down the mountain as Durin walked down. In the dim light underneath the sky that had neither sun nor moon, he began to make out a large plain. reached the headwaters of a large river, which sprung from the rock in some large falls that reached down to the basin below.

Once he reached the base of the mountains he entered large, fertile plains, which laid in-between two tributaries of a larger river. That river he named the Signâ-'ân, which is "Long-River" in Khuzdul. This would be called the Anduin in Sindarin, and the Langflood in Rohirric. The grass was long in this land and the soil was rich. Mud was tracked onto his boots as he made his way southwards crossing one of the two tributaries at a ford. The tributary was named Inrêt-'Ul, which would be called the Greylin. The other tributary that laid further to the Northeast was named Thafar-'Un, the Langflood. Durin then continued down the western banks of the Signâ-'ân, the mountains towering on his left, the deep river on his right. He traversed the hills and dells, climbing up and over the hills on his journey south.

Even as he approached the south, he did not get any warmer, for the sun did not exist at this time, only the stars lit up the sky. Shivering, he searched the hills for shelter and for wood to make a small fire. He found a small cave in the side of a hill and took shelter. A dead bush grew from the side of the cave, which he broke off and arranged in a pile of tinder and wood. He took the flint and steel from his pocket and made a fire. Durin ended up staying there the whole night. He didn't sleep however, instead, bringing himself close to the fire, having already many years to do to spend in his dreams and in sleep. He took this time to think, think about what he was going to do. Durin woke alone, with no knowledge of where his brothers were. The horizon stretched far and wide. Durin knew that the world didn't end at the mountains. It stretched far and wide. He was at a loss of what his life would be, what it should be. He was at a loss what his purpose should be.

He…. was alone.

Despair overtook him. In truth, he felt an immense desire to see his kin again. At this point, he had never seen anyone since he woke, only brief animals and creatures, which fled in surprise at the mere sight of him. Tears dripped down from his eyes onto his beard, sobbing in that small cave, with no one to comfort him. He stopped, composing himself. The first thing he needed to do was find a home. Durin couldn't survive in that small cave. Little did he know, dark creatures of Morgoth still strode across the land. The mountains were his home, but none could serve his desires. He needed a cave system. Should he try to make one himself, something would find him, something would kill him. Traversing the sides of the mountains for that long would be a death sentence.

His home would be in the south.

He left the cave and continued southwards. To comfort himself, he kept naming the mountain peaks as he went. Kidiztine, 'Uzrakh, Manlizrek, and more. After many days, three weeks, he grew thirsty again, so he made his way down to the Signâ-'ân. He stooped on the shore, letting his beard soak in the foam, drinking the running water. The borders of the Abalut-Dankha, the Greenwood (which would become Mirkwood) stretched very far in those days, all the way up to the Anduin, without the Woodsmen to cut down the trees and keep them in check. He drew up his eyes from the running water, briefly glancing at the woods on the eastern shore, which he named the Abalut-Dankha, the Greenwood on the Eastern Shores. It was there on the eastern shore that Durin saw movement, a humanoid shape? Stopping suddenly, he stared at where a dark blur had passed through the trees, jumping to his feet. He waited, but the trees and bushes remained still once more. Immensely disappointed, he continued southwards. A large rock sprouted from the Signâ-'ân, an island almost. He made his way towards it, hoping beyond hope that he would find someplace safe.

Durin had been traveling in the Eastern Border of the Gumzuzudnu, the Wilderland, for almost a whole month now. Just to the South, a large opening had appeared in the tree line. This was where the large host of Elves had travelled from Cuiviénen and through the Greenwood. This would become the place of the Elven Gate, the entrance to the Elven Path travelled by Bilbo and the Dwarves in the Third Age. Durin named it Zharsthuhru-Jundu, Forest Opening. It had been another four weeks before he reached that large stone in the river. To his disappointment, the Signâ-'ân was deep and rapid in those days, encircling the rock from either shoreline. Since Durin was slightly afraid of the river, he made no effort to cross it. It was only when Durin had been long gone did anyone journey up onto that rock, Beorn, the Skin-Changer. That rock would be known as the Carrock. In those days, however, the Skin-Changers had not existed yet, for the race of Men still had not awoken at the fields of Hildórien in the East.

What would've taken most common folk a year, Durin did in six months, as Durin had managed to reach another field of wet plains, which would be known as the Gladden Fields. He crossed the river that ran through it, the Ziriz-'ân (Golden River), and continued Southwards. Little did he know; his journey would soon reach an end.

Durin had continued to the south and soon reached the rim of a large valley. Another river ran through this valley. He was almost annoyed at the prospect at crossing _another_ river, but instead he decided that this alcove in the mountain range was promising for a new home. He made his way down the valley rim, slowly climbing down on the stones and boulders. He entered a large forest, which stretched far up to the edges of the mountains. This forest was the ancestor of what would become the forest of Lothlórien. Before he traversed down into the forest, he saw three mountains rising out of the mountain range, greater and more majestic than the others. He named them Bundshathûr, Zirakzigil, and Barazinbar. In the common tongue they would be known as the Cloudyhead, the Silvertine, and the Redhorn, the Mountains of Moria.

After passing through the forest, he reached the river that ran through it. He named this river Kibil-Nâla, which would become the Celebrant in the tounge of the Elves. Little had he taken notice of the sky on his travels, but the clouds that had covered the stars had begun to part and disperse. He made his way up the Kibil-Nâla in a valley he named Azanulbizar, which would become the Dimrill Dale. He climbed up an incline that reached towards the mountains, following the Kibil-Nâla to its source, which would provide a constant supply of fresh water for Durin to drink. The forest soon dispersed as he came upon the rocky edge of the mountains. By that time, many hours had passed and Durin grew tired, desperate to rest again.

Durin came upon the source of the Kibil-Nâla, a large pool that stretched even closer to the mountains. It was fed by many waterfalls that fell into small pools and eventually down into this lake. Durin had grown thirsty again, so he stooped down on its grassy banks and began to drink. When he was satisfied, and the ripples of the water subsided, he saw his reflection in the surface. He stopped and stared, for this was the first time he looked upon his face. Dark, brown eyes stared back at him under brown, bushy eyebrows, unkempt and dirty from his travels. A large brown beard ran down from underneath his chin and mustache on his rugged, worn face. He had a large chin and large ears that peeked through his wild hair. As he gazed at his face, his eyes slowly looked to the top of his head.

To his surprise, the clouds had parted and many stars in heaven's field shone down into the pool. He gasped at their beauty, almost as if Mahal had placed beautiful, white, shining jewels into the sky. What surprised him even more, was stars, seven of them, shining above his head like a heavenly crown. He took this as a sign, a good omen, and named the lake Kheled-Zhâram. He turned from the lake, knowing he would return, and made his way the short distance to a large cave that opened in the sheer rock wall of the Zirakzigil, between two large trees that grew alone in the rocky shores of Kheled-Zhâram. It was there that Durin found a vast cave system, the perfect place for his craft. He remembered many crafts taught to him by Mahal once Durin and his brothers were made, and he saw this as the perfect place to accomplish many beautiful works and constructions.

This place in the common tongue was named the Dwarrowdelf, Hadrodrond by the Elves, and Khazâd-Dum in the tongue of the Dwarves.


	3. -Of the Broadbeams and Firebeards-

This tale turns now to Régin and Nórthri, the second and third oldest of the Seven. Both were set by Mahal to rest in what would be known as Dolmed, a large mountain in the north of in Ered Luin, the Blue Mountains, the Khagal'abbad in Khuzdul. In those days, the Blue Mountains were still whole, unbroken. They stretched long and wide, separating the lands of Ossiriand from what would one day be called Eriador. The Blue Mountains were created by the Valar as they pushed the lands of Middle-Earth away from Valinor, the sub-continent of Beleriand crashing into the larger continent that lie beyond the Blue Mountains. With the reaches of the sea rushing in as the Mountains first rose, they became covered in ice and snow, which turned blue from the seawater, giving the Mountains their name.

What happened at Mount Dolmed was the same as Mount Gundabad, but instead, both Régin and Nórthri awoke together with their wives. Speaking to each other, they recounted what happened to them. Both Régin and Nórthri couldn't remember anything beyond Mahal's conversation with Ilúvatar. Of course, when they spoke to each other, it was in Khuzdul, for the Common Tongue had not yet developed. For the sake of this tale, it has been translated.

"Greetings, Nórthri" Régin said into the darkness once they awoke. "Where is your wife?"

"Here" she said. Her name was Brútr, and she also had a beard, in true Dwarvish fashion, but it wasn't nearly as long as that of her husband. She also had a red beard to match her husband's. "Where is yours, Régin?" she replied.

"I am here also" she replied. Her name was Víf and she was even more formidable than her husband.

Gathering each other together in the firelight, they warmed themselves and put on their clothes. A ladder had lain in the center of the room, reaching up into a hole leading out of the cavern. A sliver of light was shining down the hole and onto the floor. They strove to reach it, knowing that they would be able to leave this cavern if they had reached it. Nórthri went first, being the most hot-headed and fierce, followed by his older brother Régin and their wives after him, who had grown very fond of each other.

They reached the top of the cavern and realized that it had begun to rain, with water dripping down onto them out of the hole above. Using his hard helmet, Nórthri pushed his way through the rock and out onto the Western face of Mount Dolmed. A deep rain began to hit his face, trailing into his beard. The rock on the mountain side was muddy and slippery. He turned back to the hole and helped Régin, Víf, and Brútr out after. They then decided to take shelter in a small overhang near the peak of Dolmed. It was there that they discussed their ways and devices.

"Well, Régin, what do you intend to do from here?" Nórthri inquired. Régin looked at him, dropping a pile of kindling onto the ground.

"I think it would be best if I found a nice place for me and Víf to live and raise a family" He looked longingly into Víf's eyes. "I am thinking of some place to the South, not too far from here, for I wish to stay close to such a holy place for our kind" Nórthri nodded.

"Aye, I wish the same for me and Brútr" he smiled contentedly.

"Where has she gone, brother?" Régin asked.

"Oh, she has gone to scout about the surrounding territory and see what there is out there. She should be back anytime now" Nórthri replied. Régin growled in disapproval.

"Why would you let her do that?" he asked in disapproval. "What if something out there attacked her and killed her? You would then have no wife to call your own…" he trailed off. "And you would not have mine" he finished, eying Nórthri angrily. Víf laughed.

"He would have to have brains of mud to start a quarrel between you and himself" she kissed him on the cheek. "Anyways, red isn't really my color" she told them both. At this, Régin broke out into a smile, with Nórthri along with him. They began to laugh. This was the first laugh uttered by a Dwarf in Middle-Earth, the first happy sound the Blue Mountains had heard by a mortal being.

"Exactly, brother!" Nórthri told him as their laughter died down. He took the flint and steel from their cave and lit their pile of wood into a small fire. A bright red head of hair and beard appeared in the light on Nórthri's face. Only then could the others see that Nórthri had pale brown eyes, tinted with a slight orangish red. Régin was the larger (fattest) of the seven fathers, with long dark blonde locks reaching down his back and a shorter beard that didn't reach all the way down to this belt. His eyes were a deep blue, that appeared to shimmer like a sapphire in the firelight. Víf had a shorter brown beard, barely reaching off of her face. She also had dark brown eyes. Nórthri continued.

"Brútr is as beautiful as a flame. Not a raging fire, that burns and consumes, but one that provides beautiful light for all" He stopped briefly, smiling at the thought. "Light is something more beautiful than anything I have ever seen, with the light of a small fire, breathing life into a room, being the greatest" he contemplated, feeling his hands into the fire, which did not burn him. It was then that Brútr had returned, hearing all that Nórthri had said.

"My dearest, I did not know you had such a passionate fire inside you" she said, smiling at him. She gave him a kiss as well. As Nórthri began sputtering in surprise and embarrassment, she laughed along with the others. They turned back to him, smiling benevolently. Nórthri stood with indignation. Brútr approached him again. Right as he was about to finally say something, Brútr put her finger on his lips, shushing him. He noticed that Brútr also had the signature red hair that he did, with her eyes having even more red in them than his do.

"I only mean it in the best way, my dear Nórthri" she said kindly. "I do wonder, however, if your fire can match the one in my heart, for you" she smiled. Nórthri sighed and then smiled as well.

"We are the most perfect match for each other, Brútr" he hugged her. "No other could possess a fire to match my own, other than you". She hugged him back.

Nórthri, Brútr, Régin, and Víf remained there for another two days, hunting for food in the wild. On the third day, all of them decided that they needed to leave and look for their own dwellings to practice their craft and raise a family. Nórthri and Brútr headed to the North, seeking an abode slightly to the north, while Régin and Víf traveled to the south. It was at the first light that both groups set out, with provisions and drink to last them many days. The lands that laid to the West were large grasslands, Ossiriand, with seven rivers that ran from the mountains and into a larger river at the base. It wasn't suited to crafting and the act of forging, whereas the mountains that ran connected to Dolmed were.

Both had reached the center of the range together. There, they found a gap in the mountains that led to the lands beyond and down to Ossiriand below. They remained there again with each other for four more days, planning what they were to accomplish and do next. Nórthri and Régin had once insisted that they were to separate from each other, but remain close to keep their relations strong. Also, should their children grow and wish to bring more dwarf-children, they would need others to join with.

An important fact of the situation to consider, was that even though Nórthri and Régin considered themselves brothers, this was not entirely true. Both were crafted by Aulë, yes, but if only one should call the rocks under the earth brothers to another of an entirely different make, only then would they be considered brothers. Should this be not true, the race of the Khazâd would have died and perished many years ago. No brother married sister, instead, each family of Nórthri and Régin grew to be so large that they truly became their own people.

One night, while they were all sleeping peacefully in their camp, Orcs came down from the peaks of the mountains and attempted to kill them while they slept. Víf, who was on watch, alerted the rest of them quickly to the new and unwelcomed presence. The Orc pack, not expecting such a ferocious group, were quickly slain. In the battle, the orcs had attempted to set Nórthri on fire, brushing his beard with a bright torch. To their immense surprise, he was undeterred, continuing to fight, but with now as immense of ferocity as a roaring inferno. Brútr had to calm him down for a long time after this, as he was driven to a foolish rage. Eventually, he calmed down, but by then the fire in his beard had smoldered down until it went out altogether.

Régin had constructed a small above for them with his engineering and architectural skills, envisioning the design of the abode in his mind. When the orcs had come upon them, they also lit their dwelling ablaze. As the walls fell around them, Régin pulled one of the beams from the ground with his immense strength and wielded it like a club, crushing some of the others. It was the broadest beam of the house, providing the most support to the house. The orcs fled quickly at the sight of Régin enraged, earning his reputation as the most formidable and unshakable dwarf ever to set foot in Middle-Earth and Beleriand.

They had determined that this Orc pack had come from the lands beyond, Eregion. They knew that should they allow this pass to remain unwatched as they left each other, they would perish, as a larger pack was to soon follow them. They decided to construct their cities on both sides of this pass, one to the north and another to the south. Nórthri traveled to the north with Brútr and founded the famous dwarfish city of Nogrod, while Régin and Víf traveled south to found Belegost. Both cities remained separate, yet tied together in friendship. The tale of Nórthri fighting while on fire gave him the surname Firebeard, which was carried by his clan to the end of the dwarves in Middle-Earth.

To the south, where Régin and Víf dwelt, they flourished off of fertile lands that had lain close to their halls. Régin, being fond of food, he eventually grew to be immensely fat, but that is not what earned him his surname. His acts with the beam in their dwelling gave his clan the surname Broadbeam, which they also carried for the rest of their time in Middle-Earth.

Well after their domains were established, they sought to find the other dwarvish clans. They journeyed far to the West, but they met no one. They journeyed to the East, but when they reached the Misty Mountains, they could go no further. Durin rested on the eastern side of the mountains, unable to meet them. The Dwarves of Nogrod and Belegost eventually grew so close together that their peoples were indistinguishable from each other, with the cities acting together as one. Still, each clan ruled over their own cities.

Eventually, the days of the Eldar would arrive, as would the First Age of the world. These dwarves did not achieve the praise as they so very well deserved, often being written off as the villains in their own stories, for the Elves controlled the history of the world and Dwarves cared not for what the other races thought of them. Many great deeds did they accomplish in their halls, never told or sung by the race of Men or Elves.


End file.
